Scene 3.—Job was drank dead drunk. Stripped of not only Sir Manikin’s watch and chain, but of everything save one brief garment, and under cover of night deposited in an adjoining meadow.
“Job Pippins slept.”
“Job Pippins awoke.”
An insect ticked its little note in Job’s ear.
“The watch!” cried the bewildered Job, springing to his feet and gaspingly applying his hands to his flesh.
Who can depict his utter amazement when he had become convinced of his own identity, and found himself standing out in the broad world, reduced to the brief wardrobe, which is summed up in the one single word—“Shirt”?
Hatless, shoeless, hoseless, he stood upon the grass, the bold zephyrs playing with his garment—a bloody, tattered flag of terrible distress. Job looked timidly about. He resolved, and he re-resolved. Should he turn back to the house from whence he had been so ruthlessly ejected? Should he hide behind the hedge and solicit the help of some male passer? Who would put faith in a man with no recommendation, and possessing such a small wardrobe? O, indecision! how many better men have gone to ruin because of thee!
JOB’S DECISION.